my book of random things

That one time I died via choking

Oh fuck.

Back at it again apparently.

After being eaten by Mx Mouth I then woke up in a cold sweat, the beads of my obvious terror rolling down me like those raindrops on a car window in the middle of a thunderstorm. I felt an uncomfortable and itchy feeling all over my hands and feet, only to sit up and realise I was covered in sand and now in the middle of the desert.

Great.

You can probably guess that at this point I was very confused and majorly dehydrated. You can also tell that those two things are not good to experience at the same time. In the middle of nowhere. In a desert. Where it is really fucking hot.

I was genuinely starting to think that the sweat I woke up in wasn't from fear, and was just a result of the sweltering heat and stupid suns rays that were currently burning my skin. This theory was proven to be true by two reasons.

Reason number one.

I am in the middle of a vast expanse of sand (no I am not describing a shopping centre) that has no cloud coverage and therefore no shade and so, resulting in boiling temperatures.

Reason number two.

I'm not a wimp and I have huge balls so why would I be scared. You should be scared of the massive diameter of my grand testicles.

So. Yeah. I'm just that hot. End of. Period. But like not. 

✨menstrual cycle uwu✨

Anyways. 

So I'm currently going to die of a heat stroke and the flashbacks start rolling in. 

I think about my family. My mother, a total whore called Amanda was never there. Smh silly cow missed my golden years. My father however was The Rock. Back in school he was our P.E coach. As I ran laps around the drug shed that all the year 11's and set 8's used he would keep us going by standing on top of the creaking and graffitied shipping container in a maid outfit screaming at the top of his lungs the same chant.

I can't quite remember it but it sounded a little bit like this...

It's about drive, it's about power uwu we stay hungry, we devour...

Oh my god.

Devour deez nuts.

And then there was my brother Boris. He was always the favourite, and the fattest. When our father used to coach our class, Boris would come out of the boys changing rooms with shin pads and a Dora the Explorer bicycle helmet. He thrived in secondary school but then he had the bright idea to waltz into Queen Lizzies bedroom and demand that he was put in charge of the country. 

I have no idea how he managed to get the job and I believe it was something to do with attempted kidnapping of Lizzies fat dogs. But hey who am I to judge, all my applications for jobs consisted of me walking up to a big bossman and going 'hey gurl, nice azzz'. Clearly I did not get the jobs but I did get a lot of bitches. 

*lip bites*

Anyways, as I lay there in a furnace straight from hell and as hot as satans firery farts, I decided that I was not going to die of dehydration or from shrivelling up because only chads and chavs would do that. 

And so, I rose.

I then fell down immediately after but I kept persisting until I could stand on the sand dune that I had woken up on. Swirling and twirling, millions upon billions of tiny particles of stupid fucking sand blew around me and my body. Now covered in tiny, itchy and quite frankly sandy sand I scanned my surroundings.